Afterthoughts
by Lilly Caia
Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts Neville gives his past and future some serious thought. What is it about normalcy that has failed him so far?


Afterthoughts

Blood. Looking at his reflection in the mirror in his walk-in bathroom at Longbottom Manor he could see so much blood. Matting his brown hair flat to his skull, marring the lines in his face, staining his grey shirt und sweater as they lied behind him on the floor, it clung to his dark boots mixed with lots of mud. He felt as if it would never get off again, as if it would never get off him. He felt dirty. Relieved but dirty. Never would he have thought there could be so much blood in a battle between wizards. Not as much as he had pictured for years in History class when told about Goblin Wars. They were wizarts, they did not have axes and yet there were so many spells to severe limbs, make bruses and cut nastily into flesh it was nauseating.

„Just get in the shower, Nev.", he said slowly to himself. Taking one last look at his reflection he shed his pants and underwear. „Remember to get rid of everything later.", Neville mumbled lowly under his breath. He took the few steps to the big shower stall and started the water. The drops pearling off his skin and down to his feet were completely red. It looked as if someone had been murdered. So many had been murdered that day. Cold, ruthless. He hoped the Death Eaters would get what they deserved. He for his part did not wish to see any of them ever again. How anyone could think killing like this could be justified was beyond him.

„It's over." It was true. They lost so much but it was over. If they did not call him for trials – and he very much doubted that as most of His followers had been witnessed by lots of people that day, enough to get a one-way ticket to Azkaban – he would never have to see any of them again. Finally at peace. Was he though? The problems were still not resolved. The prejudice that had started this whole war still existed. People did not want to admit it but when confronted by the choice between a muggleborn and a pureblood for a job post, most would surely choose the pureblood. Pureblood. Such an ugly word it was. He knew of course that he himself was considered pure. His family was old, one of the Sacred Twenty-eight. He would never have any employment problems, that is if he even wished to be an employee. Merlin knew they had money enough that if he wanted he never would have to work. He wanted to though. As hard as last year had been, he mostly had enjoyed his school experience even with bullying. Throwing all he had learned away to live an easy life wherever he wanted would feel as if he was throwing everything back in his teachers' faces. That put aside, what would he even do with so much freetime? Sure, he could always work in the garden, he planned on it, but he could not do that day in day out, could he?

He just realized, seeing as how they had always been fighting something or other sometimes simply to survive, he had never so much as spared a thought to what he would do after school. Was he done with school? They would surely rebuild Hogwarts. He had absolutely no doubt about that. The people needed to see things were moving and sending their kids back to school to continue their studies seemed normal. It would give them confidence. Could he go back to school? In theory he had already had his seven years of Hogwarts education. Not that he had learned much during the last year. Seeing as he had had to spend the last two months in hiding in the Room of Requirement one might be inclined to say he had not had the most continuous of educations. He had not even written his final exams.

A silly thought. Had he not just confirmed for himself he would not have any trouble finding a job, should he wish to? Did he want to, yet? Maybe he could help with reparations first. Who knows, they might actually allow students who survived the war to come back and...repeat the year? To repeat one must have already have done it. Harry, Hermione and Ron had not been there as had dozens of muggleborns in hiding. Those who had been at school had not really had what he would consider appropriate schooling. So it would not be a repetition. It would be a new start, something normal that they all needed.

There it was again. The word normal seemed to constantly bug him. Had his life ever been normal? He had lost his parents to delirious followers of Voldemort. His best, Bellatrix Lestrange. His parents might not be dead but given their condition they might as well be. Those were his thoughts. The same bitter thoughts he had always had since he had first been told why he could not be with his parents, why they were not home and why he could not talk to them. It still hurt badly even after all these years. He supposed it would never go away.

Then when he finally thought his life would get a touch of normalcy, all those weird things started to happen at school. He did not talk about the regurlar bullying from Slytherins or Snape. He had gotten over it while growing up. Especially the last year had done wonders for his self-esteem. „For a high price.", he thought bitterly. No, what had messed up the normal school experience had been the strange occurences that seemed to follow the boy who lived everywhere he went. Of course noone but Voldemort was at fault for Quirrell or the basilisk, for the Triwizard Tournament that somehow turned into a Muliwizard Tournament. Interesting enough Dumbledore had always been at the forefront of every new entanglement. „Most powerful wizard my ass." For being the 'most powerful wizard ever to live after Merlin' Dumbledore sure had never done much to merit the title after claiming Hogwarts as its headmaster. But there was no use in pining the dead. Dumbledore was gone and with him any lies he spoke were burried. Digging them up would do noone any good. He knew from experience. The only thing helpful was moving forward.

So back to the future, perhaps he should go visit his parents. It might not help him out with his predicament over what to do about schooling and employment, but he always felt more grounded after speaking to them. Sometimes he even thought there was a flicker of recognition in his mothers' eyes. But as quickly as he saw it, it was always gone. It was probably his mind playing tricks on him, but he liked to think he actually saw it. It gave him hope things would be better someday.

„Let's finish here and then run this by grandma." With this thought he finished rinsing his hair. After having conditioned it thrice, there was no more blood or dirt coming out of it. His body was long clean, too, but still he felt as though something clung to him, never washing off. As if some part in him had been replaced and the new part did not quite fit in. He supposed this was the part people talked about. The part of you that changed after a war. The innocence you had lost and no matter what you did would never get back. He knew he was scarred. He could for one see it plainly in the mirror on his chest, arms, shoulder and on his back, but he supposed if one looked long enough one could see it in his eyes, too. That hardness that seemed to linger. He hoped it would dissipate, but suspected this, too, would cling to him, never leaving.

Drying off he went in his room, took some clothes out of his closet. After pulling them on he went into the salon to see whether his grandma was there. She had not participated in the fight as she was too old for it. For that he was very grateful. He could not imagine losing her, too. She was the last blood family he had – if one did not count his uncle. He had not counted him as part of the family since the day on his eighth birthday when his uncle had thrown him out of the window from ten metres height. One could only imagine what would have happened, had his magic not kicked in. More blood spilling for sure. But who cares about a squib's death. Because would he not have been exactly that? He wondered what would have gone differently had his parents been there. Surely noone would have put him in a life threatening situation just to prove a point. Maybe his magic would have kicked in way earlier. Neville knew there was no point dwellling in the what-ifs. There never had been as one could not rewind the past. That, too, he had had to learn the hard way.

His grandma was not to be found in the salon. He could use some food though, he thought, so he went to the kitchen. Beany their house elf immediatly jumped to him at seeing him entering.

„What can Beany be doing for you, Master Neville?", the little elf asked eagerly. It must be quite lonely if you did not have company other than his grandma and Merlin did he know she could be a handful. „Do you think I could have something to eat? Nothing fancy, maybe just a few sandwiches I can take with me.", he asked smiling at her.

A delighted smile spread over her face and immediately the little elf sprung into action. „Of yourse, young Master. Beany would love to make you sandwiches. Do you still like ham and cheese like when you were young?" He had to muffle a laugh at her eagerness. „Sure, Beany. Just maybe not quite the quantities of cheese I used to have on my sandwiches back then." This landing on deaf ears he received a lovingly made sandwich with lots of cheese and ham. He knew she meant well and thus did not say more on the topic. „Thank you very much, Beany." „It's no problems, Sir.", she beamed and turned back to cleaning the room.

Taking the sandwiches with him, he left the kitchen and made his way to his grandma's rooms. They were not far away from his own quarters as both rooms were in the family wing. Still it took a few minutes to get there from the kitchen. Those minutes before reaching his destination he took to hungrily devour his sandwiches. He knocked on his grandmother's door and entered after hearing a „Come in.". „Neville. I see you cleaned up. How are you, dear?" „I've been better. I think it has not quite sunk in, yet." „That is understandable. You know you can always come find me?" „Of course, grandma. But actually I came to ask you something." „Go on." „I was wondering if you'd like to visit Mom and Dad tomorrow. I feel like talking to them." „Oh honey of course we can go.", she smiled at him with a slightly pitying tilt to her voice. He did not like it one bit. „What time did you have in mind?" „How about noon? That time all their check-ups should be over and we will still have enough time to rest." „Noon it is then. Well then, Neville. I'd like to get this mentioned rest now. Good night to you."

After bidding her a good night, he went back to his quarters. There was no way he could sleep now, he thought. But as soon as his back hit the bed, exhaustion hit him and he fell asleep quickly. He was not surprised when nightmares appeared. Of course he had dreaded them. But it was kind of a given, he felt. He had lived something gruesome, it would come back to haunt him. Even if at that time swinging a sword and fighting bad people felt right, he had been filled with adrenaline, making the experience bearable. Now all the pain, the screams, the dead bodies and all the blood – so very much blood – came back. He saw everyone die. His grandma, his friends, even his parents who could not have been anywhere near the Battle were entangled in the situation and killed. It hurt. So very much. It was a relief when he awoke at six in the morning. The sun was just coming up and birds were tweeting. The wildlife was completely unfazed. For them everything was normal, as though nothing had happened. It somehow seemed wrong that everything should look this peaceful.

He took another shower. He had sweated due to the dream and felt filthy all over again. Cleansed he went out of the manor. The property included a few small woods. So there in the early morning hours he went through the trees and collected plants for all kinds of potions that would certainly be needed. Maybe he himself would ask for a dreamless sleep potion. He could really use one if he did not want to torture himself every night.

After two hours he went back. By now his grandmother should be up. They could have breakfast together. True to his thoughts she was awake and had apparently been so for quite a while. They ate together what Beany prepared for them and by the time they were finished it was just half past ten.

„Professor McGonagall floo-called while you were out. She told me they would start rebuilding Hogwarts tomorrow and asked whether we'd like to help. I told her I would and that I'd ask you." „ Of yourse I'll help. It's not like I have anything else to do and I thought about it anyway." „Good. She further said that if you wished to, they were proposing for all who want one an additional year to finish their schooling." Hearing those words was like a burden coming off his shoulders. He would not be stuck not knowing what to do with himself for months on ende. Instead he would first help rebuild Hogwarts and then perhaps spend one normal year there.

„You have no idea how grateful I am to be able to return." „So you do wish to go back. A wise decision.", she smiled at him. „Very well, if you have nothing to add", she looked at him waiting, „then I will go back to my quarters and meet you here in about one hour." With that she turned and left the salon.

On his own again and with nothing to do, he started to think again. Not very pleasant thoughts but somehow he managed to survive the hour and they left for the hospital via apparition. He had taken his license test the year before so took his grandma side-along since she was – though with dignity – ageing and thus not feeling her best especially on slightly straining activities such as apparating.

The hospital was always one of his most hated places. It had a bittersweet feeling to it as on one hand it was the place where he could see his parents. On the other hand it brought back those feelings of disappointment. Disappointment because he knew the chances of a recovery after all this time were very nearly null. It was a crushing feeling mixed with despair knowing his parents were so close yet so far away. Walking along the corridor he remembered all those times he had seen them but they had not seen him. Vacantly stared at his face, not reacting when called, not reacting at the sight of their son. It hurt everytime. He also remembered the times he though he saw that look of recognition, the times his mother would give him empty sweets wrappings. It was not much but it was moments like these he clung onto hoping. Hoping they would someday recognize him. It would make him so happy. Just to have them give him a hug knowing it was him. He knew he probably sounded like a little kid, but a little kid is what he felt like anytime he went to see them.

A little kid was what he felt like now here with his grandma walking alongside a healer telling them of any occurences. As always nothing much had changed. She told them they had been a little more active then usual. The healer thought it might have been due to them not visiting for so long. Why had they not anyway? Apparently this one did not keep track of what happened outside her little world. Though she did give Neville the googly eyes. He had gotten them more and more the older he got, as he lost all his baby fat, grew taller and leaner, as his jaw widened. He knew he was bound to get his Mom and Dad's looks. It was reassuring but at the same time disconcerting. He liked seeing them but it brought pain to remembered every time he saw his own face.

As they walked along the corridor he noticed the usual colourful pictures, the decorations made by patients, saw some of them walking around. It was a familiar sight he would never fully get used to and he hoped he would never get used to it. If he ever did, it would be like admitting defeat, admitting his parents would never leave St. Mungos' facilities. He dreaded the day he got used to it. They arrived at his Mom and Dad's door. Behind that door they would be, as usual. Sitting and letting the days drag by. He sometimes wondered if it really would ever change, if they really would ever get better. He hoped but his hope was diminishing. At home in pictures he saw what could be, here he saw what was. There were miles between the two. He opened the door and there they were. Sitting as expected, but something was slightly different. Their reaction was different. Usually they would just continue whatever they had been doing, this time they looked up. As if for once the door opening and him being there was enough to tear them from their trance. His mother and father looked at him. Was there recognition he spotted? That was probably his mind. But it was a nice thought.

Neville walked towards his Mom as she was the one nearer to him. „Hey Mom. It's me, Neville.", he smiled at her. Sitting down he took her hand. „We won the war. That's actually the reason I haven't been here in quite some time. I had to finish your job." Now he was slightly tearing up. It was true. It felt as if he had had to finish something and now that what his parents had begun was done, he felt relieved. Those who had hurt them lost, they had won. „The good guys won over the bad guys. It's like a fairy tale." In a fairy tale these would be like some sort of magical words. In a fairy tale his parents would look at him and recognize him. In a fairy tale his Mom would grip his hand tighter. In a fairy tale she would call his name. „Neville." Yes, exactly like that. He would look at her and...she was looking at him. He could hear his grandmother gasp behing him. Had she...? „Neville." There it was again. Her mouth had moved and...and she had said his name. Oh Merlin she had said his name. „Mom?", he asked incredulously. Smiling knowingly she said it again: „Neville."

He must be dreaming. An incredibly great dream. It would not be the first time though it felt so incedibly real. „Might as well go all the way", he thought, throwing himself in her arms and sobbing, holding her tight. If this was a dream he would savour it. He felt her arms coming around his back, holding him tight and she held him, held him until he stopped crying. It was no dream. She really was there and she was saying his name.

Like in some kind of haze he spent the next couple hours there. Healers came in and went, unbelieving to see the couple who had for years never recognized anyone suddenly rercognizing their son. For his Dad had soon joined his mother, saying his name and tentatively laying his arms around him. Throughout all this he had cried, as Neville had, as his grandmother had. It was a miracle come true. It might not seem as much but his parents had after years recognized him and that was enough for now. Perhaps it was even enough for ever. Perhaps there was more to come. For now he would wait and see, see and enjoy, enjoy and look forward to the future he had dreaded so much this morning. It was amazing how much could change in a few hours.

He had been lost, frustrated and angry, then relieved he could go back to school, he had a plan. Now he was happy. Something he had not counted on. Something he sometimes wondered whether he ever had been. Now he was and would be and no hardships could take this place of happiness away from him. Perhaps it was not normal, but when had his life ever been normal?


End file.
